Belatedly
by sick-atxxheart
Summary: He slips away, wishing more than anything that he had had the courage to say what he had always wanted to. He knows it's too late- for him, and for Harry. Much too late.


_Little brother, little brother, stop crying, stop crying  
Though you are crying and crying, who else will carry you  
Little brother, little brother even in the gardens  
This lullaby continues to the different divisions of the garden  
From the island of the dead, their spirits will continue to look after us_

_-_Sweet Lullaby, _by_ _Deep Forest_

..

He can't help watching the boy sleep. The child looks so frail, so _tiny; _helpless, in fact. So much so that the man almost feels a pang of pity in his heartless chest; but it's gone as soon as it came, and forgotten. He's beyond feeling pity, or compassion, or- _anything_.

He's gone as soon as he came, feeling ashamed for looking; he feels like he's trespassed on something personal, something private. What right does he have to look at someone, much less a _child_, while they're sleeping? Even if it is the heroic _Harry _bloody _Potter_. The boy doesn't look all that heroic when he's locked in a too-small cupboard, now does he?

_You're a selfish, hateful man_, his mind hisses, and Severus ignores it out of habit. He couldn't really be _feeling_ something, could he?

No, of course not.

.

He can't help the hate he feels every time he sees the child. He remembers, sometimes, how small Harry looked years and years ago; but it's much easier to forget these days, what with the child being all over school _all the time_. He's just like his dead father, and Severus wonders sometimes if he hates Harry or James. What's the difference, anyway?

Severus finds that this time, he can't ignore the taunting whispers in his mind.

_He could have been yours_.

.

It's hard not to ignore the bottle of Firewhiskey when Harry's birthday comes around. Why wasn't he with Lily's child? He imagines the boy opening presents somewhere, at the Weasleys' no doubt; the boy undeniably has more friends than he knows what to do with. No matter how hard he tries to convince himself of that, he knows it's a lie.

Severus can't help but see the similarities between them, he and the boy. He remembers Harry, exhausted from working for his family and being screamed at; he had wanted to comfort the boy then, but his cold exterior had denied him that privilege.

Was it really simply a coincidence that they were so similar?

.

Harry can't make a potion to save his life, and Severus wonders inwardly where that came from. Lily was brilliant; James Potter was at least somewhat intelligent when he tried. Had Harry really been passed over in the line of genetics? He guessed not.

He couldn't quite stop the cruel words that came out of his mouth. Where did they come from? Why did they have to pass from his lips, to the _one_ person he wished he could have some sort of actual relationship with? Why did the child who he _wished_ could be his son have to hate him?

All those questions, but they don't stop his words.

.

_He's seen You-Know-Who_. The whispers pass through the halls like wildfire, and Severus can't help but sneer at those who are so _foolish_ to fear a name. But still, the thought sends shivers through him- would his worst nightmare be born again? Would he be forced back into the arms of the one who tormented him, tortured him?

Severus was scared for his life, and yet all he could think about was Harry. How had the child survived once more?

_Who will comfort him?_

He was surprised to find himself caring.

.

He's constantly reminded of Lily, and Severus hates it. Why do those green eyes that decorate Harry's face have to be _so much_ like hers? Why is he always reminded of the woman he loved more than anything in the world, even though he threw the chance away with one wrongly chosen word?

He wishes he could tell her _I'm sorry_. He wishes he could do it all over again.

He wishes he could love those green eyes on _her_ face, rather than hate them on _his_.

.

The years passed, and Severus watched as Harry again and again faced the Dark Lord, the man of his nightmares. _Does Harry have nightmares too?_ He wonders, and once again returns to the old standby of ignoring his thoughts. They have only lead him astray before.

After all, they lost him Lily; and they lost him Harry. A family- all he had ever wanted. _All I don't have._

He dreams of darkness, falling, and of a green-eyed son who looked exactly like him.

.

He returns to his old post of spy for the Order. He's tortured, and he nearly falls to death more than once. Severus is not surprised when his mind unconsciously wishes that he could _really_ just slip away, and not think anymore. Thinking's just too hard.

He knows the end is coming. It has to be; he's heard the Dark Lord talking, and he hears Dumbledore, too. The end is coming. He can't help but be afraid.

He's struck suddenly of exactly how _weak_ he is. He wonders if Harry's scared too.

.

Severus finds himself dying on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, the place he had never thought he would find himself on his deathbed. It's rather convenient, really; the one place that reminds him so much of what he wants to forget…

But what's more important is that Harry's leaning over him, kneeling next to him and looking concerned. _Foolish boy_, Severus thinks inwardly. _There's a war going on_… But he can't help but be glad that at least _someone's_ here. He doesn't want to be alone…

With his last burst of strength, Severus gives his memories to Harry. It's the least he can do.

.

He slips away, wishing more than anything that he had had the courage to say what he had always wanted to. Why hadn't he been brave enough to tell a mere _child_ that he could have been his father? Why hadn't he had enough of a heart to be a real _man_ and stand up to his past and change his future? Why hadn't he forgotten his hatred and told the person _so like him_ that they were more similar than he had thought? Why hadn't he _been_ there for Harry?

He knows it's too late. He wishes he had been strong enough, but he knows wishes don't count for much. He had always been weak.

His dying breath leaves behind three last words, and then he's gone.

_I'd carry you._

Those three words only came seven years too late.

.

_For Shuna_.


End file.
